


Push

by Notasmuch



Series: Distractions!Verse [3]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-20
Updated: 2011-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-15 19:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notasmuch/pseuds/Notasmuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Patrick likes to push Bob over his limits. It works for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push

**Author's Note:**

> BDSM includes orgasm denial, overstimulation, pain kink.

Bob knows sometimes Patrick likes to see how far he can push him. Mostly it's shitty stuff, like how long he can listen to Prince before Bob starts packing to move out, or how long he can pile smelly clothes on his side of the bedroom before Bob tries to set them on fire.

But this isn't it. Bob knows it isn't because he recognizes it. Because he asked for it.

 _"I think I might be into pain. And some other stuff," Bob said._

 _Patrick closed his laptop carefully._

 _"In general? Because I know that, I've seen the scars."_

 _"In bed."_

 _"Oh."_

 _Which didn't tell Bob anything he wanted to know._

 _"I, I'm gonna need more details?"_

 _"Because you want to know exactly how fucked up I am or because you want to do something about it?"_

 _Patrick paused for a really long time. "Both?"_

 _Bob cringed._

 _"There are things I'd be okay with, I think. But not everything. Like, I don't want to break your legs or something."_

 _Bob rolled his eyes._

 _"You set yourself on fire," Patrick pointed out._

 _"Oh, for... It was an accident. A work related accident."_

 _Patrick looked skeptical. "Either way, I'm not gonna set you on fire."_

 _"Fuck you."_

 _"No, fuck you. Now tell me, what kind of stuff?"_

 _Bob named some things he wanted to try, spelled out precisely the ones he never ever did, and mentioned a few he might try if persuaded. It was awkward and he wanted a beer, but he felt better when it was done. Patrick knew and could do what he wanted with the information.  
What Patrick did was say, "Okay, let me think about it," and spent two nights Googling frantically and ignoring Bob completely. _

Then today he just dragged Bob to their room, undressed him, pushed him on the bed and went down on him.

That right there should have been Bob's first warning because Patrick doesn't like giving head. He likes cock just fine but it stretches his jaw and bumps into his throat and apparently _there hasn't been nearly enough research on what exactly come does to one's throat_ , so he does it rarely and carefully. This time though, he goes crazy with it, sucking down and getting it wet and licking up before swallowing again. Bob thumps his head on the bed, says, "Fucking fuck!" once and holds on to the sheets.

It's just the kind of blowjob Bob likes, a bit urgent and sloppy, so it's a miracle he holds on as long as he does.  
And then, just as Bob's getting close, Patrick sits up and starts looking around, like he forgot to wash his teeth or something.

Bob pushes up on his elbows, gaping, and waits until Patrick looks back at him.

"What?"

Bob points at his dick meaningfully. _Seriously, how much explanation does it need??_

"Yeah, yeah."

Patrick pushes him back down and Bob frowns at the ceiling until he's back in Patrick's mouth, wet and warm and so, so ready. But when he goes to squeeze Patrick's shoulder in warning the heat disappears and he's left hanging again.

"What the _fuck_?" His voice is breathless and cracking but he can't even care because he was _right there_.

Patrick looks very serious, like he's conducting an experiment and Bob knows that face, he doesn't need words, he gets it.

"I wanna try something," Patrick says anyway.

Research is done and Patrick has a plan. Bob resigns himself to waiting.

It's sort of good once he relaxes and accepts that Patrick won't let him come any time soon. He stops rushing to the orgasm and lets himself feel as much as he can. It's not easy to _not_ fuck into Patrick's mouth or hold his head down or just grab his own cock and jerk off. But he moves his hips slowly and lets Patrick set the rhythm and after a while it's good but not urgent. His stomach is clenching, his fingers are grabbing the sheet and he's making much, much more noise than usually, but he can handle it, he can take it, for a while longer anyway.

Patrick only stops him three more times and after the last one Bob starts feeling something new.

Yeah, his cock is still being sucked, which is always a good thing, but Patrick's elbows are on his thighs, keeping him down, an occasional sharp tug on the hair around his penis reminds him who he's with, and his balls are starting to ache with need. On the upside, the sounds Patrick is making are so filthy Bob stops being able to hear his own embarrassing groans.

That's about the time the pain in his balls starts to feel distant, more like a part of him than something that's happening to him. The feeling is unknown and liberating but scary as hell. And maybe everything would be great if he could take it further, let go completely, but he's too scared to, so he flinches and shakes his head, breaking the concentration, until he feels everything again. Then Patrick tugs on his balls roughly and Bob comes into his mouth, every muscle in his body taut while Patrick sucks mercilessly.

Then his legs and arms go completely lax and he gasps for air, hoping someone will just flip him over and let him sleep. He's about to try and say something when he realizes Patrick's still mouthing his cock, licks and kisses as he's going soft. It doesn't hurt yet, but he's definitely feeling it. He reaches out but Patrick takes hold of his wrists, not too hard, but meaningful, like he's asking a question, and presses them to the bed near Bob's hips. Bob nods.

His body is starting to twitch, wants to move away from Patrick's tongue and lips despite Bob's consent but then a thumb passes over the scar on his wrist and Bob breathes again, because it's Patrick.

The pain grows distant again, a new place in his head calling for him and as he spreads his legs open so Patrick can do what ever he wants and thinks maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just try, for a bit.

There are fingers slipping behind his balls and his cock is still being handled, carefully but insistently, causing pain to streak through his body, dull and constant, and Bob breathes with it, tries.

He looks at Patrick, can only see his face, his lips on Bob's skin. All he notices is concentration, the fierce kind that usually goes into Patrick's music, and Bob suddenly feels loved and fucking _special_ because he knows Patrick's messed up list of priorities and apparently he made it to the top.

"Fuck." Bob's voice is torn, and it's the first thing he said since he came, but it's not even what he wants to say. "Fuck, Patrick."

Patrick just hums and smiles at him, taking another lick, and Bob doesn't need to say anything more. He isn't sure if he feels everything or nothing. The hum of the pleasure and the throbbing of the pain are everywhere at once.

Bob moans shamelessly when he feels Patrick's fingers spreading him open, pushing inside, his other hand still cradling Bob's bad wrist and his tongue making a long line on Bob's dick. It hurts but it's pleasure and love and Bob lets go, drinks everything in until none of it feels his own any more.

He can't get hard no matter how much his dick twitches, he can't come again, he knows it, and all he has is that moment and Patrick.

It barely registers when the lips move up over his torso and Patrick's body rubs against his cock. He doesn't notice his arms being pulled up until Patrick's face is near his, until Patrick whispers "You're so good" in his ear and Bob chokes on air trying to say "Thank you."

Then he's being kissed, Patrick's lips on his like a thousand times before, like everything should be back to normal, but even then, with Patrick's tongue in his mouth and Patrick's cock lining up to his ass, all he can do is open and wait.

Patrick doesn't stop kissing him when he starts fucking. It's another thing that's new. Even when he's panting and can't really kiss any more, his lips don't leave Bob's, he just breathes heavily in and out of Bob's mouth and Bob realizes he likes it, maybe even needs it. His skin is pricking wherever Patrick slides against it, his balls are pressed between their bodies - too hard, just perfect - and his ass clenches around Patrick's cock obediently, out of his control. His dick is still not playing, but the slide in his ass is good, in a _too much but not enough_ way. Patrick's breath on his tongue and occasional lick inside just remind him it's not all about the pain.

When Patrick comes he grinds against Bob hard and bites his lip and Bob can't help but groan. It just gets him a harder bite and an even harder kiss after.

Patrick pulls out slowly but doesn't let go of Bob's wrists until he kisses each carefully and Bob would be embarrassed if he could really focus on it.  
Patrick takes a shirt and dips it in the old glass of water on the nightstand to clean them both up.

Bob's not sure what to say. He notices Patrick looking a bit worried but doesn't know why or if he could comfort him. It's ridiculous and he's never felt this lost after sex, especially not sex with Patrick, but his whole body is still twitching and his brain is just too drunk to function.

He expects Patrick to crash on his side of the bed and fall asleep, isn't really sure that he can do that himself, but instead, Patrick's hand falls over his chest and he presses his whole body up against Bob's, tangling their legs together and burrowing his face into Bob's shoulder.

It's good. It's exactly what Bob needs, especially when his mind starts clearing up and he notices the pain still coursing through his body, no longer tempered by pleasure, but emphasized by exhaustion. He can feel the tiny kisses Patrick is pressing to his arm and they are a comfort and a reminder.

The hand on his chest is moving slowly, like Patrick is petting him, and it's just another thing he didn't know he'd need. He turns his head a bit to look at his lover but just sees the top of his head, red in the daylight.

He's almost startled when he hears the question.

"Are you okay?"

"Ye..." Bob coughs when his voice breaks and tries again, "Yeah. That was fun."

Patrick finally looks up at him and Bob was right, he does look worried.

"Are _you_ okay?" Bob finally asks.

"I should have talked to you about it first."

"We talked."

"Not today."

"No, but it was okay," he thinks for a moment. "It's not the same though. Talking about it and doing it. It was more than I expected."

It just makes Patrick look even more worried.

"Good more." Bob wants to tell Patrick how he felt, how much he needed it, how much he learned about himself that he wasn't even sure he wanted to know. But he can't find the right words just yet. So "good" would have to do.

The fingers on Bob's chest start tapping some unrecognizable beat and Patrick's face relaxes. "Yeah? That's good. We should still talk, if we're gonna do anything else, you know."

Bob reaches and traps Patrick's fingers with his, feels him start to relax, finally. "Probably. That could be fun too. Waiting."

Patrick smiles at him, then yawns into his shoulder and looks him over one more time, like he wants to make sure everything is really okay. "Yeah, could be."

They are still unusually close but Bob doesn't mind, he closes his eyes and lets himself fall asleep with Patrick's breath on his shoulder.


End file.
